Handle With Care
by DeniseV
Summary: Ezra has his second chat with Billy after the boy's attack on the gambler before the Denver Trip. It goes better than the first. All is well, except for a tired and sick from his treatments Ezra stuck way out of town. Oh, and Buck could be childless, but not because he won't likely ever marry, at least if Inez has anything to say do about it. Follow-on to my story The Denver Trip.


"Buck Wilmington!" a familiar and somewhat shrill woman's voice screeched through the air and right into the handsome mustachioed man's inner ear.

"Hell," he said, followed by, "ow!" as he rubbed his ear and jumped from his seat in front of the jail, nearly toppling over in his intent to run away from what was bound to be an unpleasant encounter. The chair did fall, but he couldn't worry about that as the preacher Josiah Sanchez stormed at him from another direction, and his oldest friend and leader of the law enforcement group known far and wide as The Magnificent Seven, Chris Larabee, seemed to reach across the avenue, blocking his only way to freedom.

"Buck," Josiah's commanding voice called, now just two doors away from Buck down the main street of Four Corners.

"I'm doomed," the ladies' man said as he righted the chair that had fallen when he saved himself from the same fate just moments before. He sat back down and waited for the inevitable.

"What is wrong with you?" the pretty and very angry Inez Rocios asked.

"Nothin'," the tall, dark and handsome man, at least he was considered that by most women, somehow not _this_ woman, said. He followed quickly by poorly feigned curiosity, "Why do you ask?"

"Och, estúpido."

"Hey, now, hold on there, little lady," the lean gunman said. Josiah shook his head and left the problem to Chris' capable hands.

Buck Wilmington always found Inez Rocios' big brown eyes captivating, mesmerizing. Today, those same eyes made him feel not just a little worried for his life. Her eyes grew wide at the condescending words, the rest of her beautiful face fierce as she pulled her leg back in preparation of, depending on her aim and how high she could kick, a potentially life-altering attack, emphasis on the altering.

"Inez," Chris said as he reached for her arm, moving the trajectory of the very high kick just to the left of Buck's family jewels.

"Ouch! Jeez!" he said as he noted just how close she got. "You were really gonna … "

"Shut up, Buck," Chris said. "Inez?"

"Ezra had a treatment today. Remember?" Chris did. "He is supposed to rest because he, well … ." Inez stopped her rant with a frustrated sigh. She knew it was asking a lot for everyone to remember what was what with Ezra. She and the healer, Nathan Jackson, were on top of things. Chris was, too. Vin Tanner as well, but he was out spending some time at the reservation. As the leader of the law enforcers of Four Corners, Chris needed to make sure patrols were covered whenever one of them was sick or injured. But that was secondary to his worry for the gambler.

Chris turned to his old friend. "So why isn't Ezra resting, Buck?"

"Why you askin' me?" Buck asked innocently. Inez growled and headed back to the saloon.

"Inez don't usually want to kill people. Out with it," the handsome blond ordered.

"I'll tell you, but I don't think it's fair to blame me. It ain't my fault how he is with kids. I didn't figure he'd get up and go that quick. He looked like hell."

Chris stared at his fellow lawman. He wondered sometimes how Buck had lived as long as he had. The man could sometimes miss the most obvious when it was shoved right under his nose. That probably explained why he would not be retiring from the Texas Rangers.

"Buck." It was now Chris' turn to growl.

"All right. I just told Ezra that I saw Billy walkin' around town like he didn't have a friend in the world."

"You told Ezra that, today?"

"Honest, Chris, I thought Nate 'n' Ez were doin' that whole thing tomorrow."

"And you didn't notice that he looked like shit each of the other two times?" Chris Larabee now wanted to hurt Buck Wilmington. He wouldn't, of course, but sometimes, as compassionate and caring as Buck was, he seemed to possess a similar level of obtuse – Ezra's word – that bordered on complete cluelessness.

"Hell, Ez ain't looked all that great since gettin' back from Denver."

Buck wasn't lying about that. Nathan and Ezra agreed to start in immediately on some of the suggestions of the Doctors Rutherford, Foster, Adams and Wharton. They only within the last two weeks started the malaria treatments as they wanted to have readily available the entire amount of the quinine needed for the series of three treatments a week for four weeks straight. Today was the first of this week's, the third week. Ezra remained stoic in the face of the poisons, near poisons and other curatives that were suggested by the group of physicians who, though busy with their own practices, kept in close touch. Ezra Standish was passionate about lavender, before the Denver trip. He could barely tolerate the stuff now, and had removed the lavender soap, shampoo and candle that reminded him of the tea he was now drinking several times a day. He had mentioned to Chris that he was not convinced that the cure was any better than the affliction.

"Yeah," Chris said as he stood next to the town's Lothario. "Do you know where they are?"

"Saw 'em walking out of town, toward Lizard Rock."

Chris shook his head. "All right. I'm gonna get Pony and Chaucer and head out." The leader of Four Corners' lawmen turned toward the livery.

"He won't want Billy to see him weak."

"I know. I'll tell him he needs to ride out to check on Mrs. McGrath, let Billy think it was prearranged. I'll tell Ez to just hang back for a while before coming back. I'll bring Billy back to town."

"You sure that's gonna work?"

Chris looked at Buck and decided at that moment that he was not keen on having Ezra out there alone. It was wholly Buck's fault that Ezra was out and away from his feather bed with the side effects he knew Ezra was dealing with – the headache, ringing in his ears, slightly blurred vision, and the overall lethargy – since he had these symptoms the last two times. But there were other possible side-effects that could hit him and he shouldn't be left alone if they did.

"No. Come on and get Clyde ready. You're comin' with."

"Aw, hell, Chris. I got plans."

"Break 'em, Buck. You're the reason he's out there when he should be in bed." Buck stood, mouth agape. "Come on, go tell … whoever it is that you have to reschedule."

Buck stepped down from the boardwalk. He leaned in toward his friend and said, low and serious, a squint in his eyes, "You can be a real son-of-a-bitch sometimes."

Chris looked at his old friend. "Well, Buck, I guess that's why the judge pays me the big bucks."

"I guess … hey! You get paid more than the rest of us?"

"No, but I sure as hell should be," Chris replied as he headed for the livery. Buck turned … and found himself face-to-face with an angry Nathan Jackson. _'Talk about a bitch of a conversation'_ , Chris thought as a satisfied grin came to his face.

* * *

Billy Travis and Ezra Standish sat on the flat rock at the edge of the well-full creek at Lizard Rock. One look up at the top of the craggy rock easily explained the moniker. And the creek, moving fast due to significant seasonal rains, seemed to calm the nerves of boy and man.

They had talked about any number of things on their walk here, but Billy had gone suddenly quiet once they sat down. Ezra decided to wait him out, happy for the respite from activity that he was sure to be chastised for by the town's healer and the gambler's friend, Nathan Jackson. Ezra smiled. He and his fellow from the South seemed to cross a hurdle in their relationship during the Denver trip. They learned more about one another in those short couple of weeks than they had in the three years they'd known one another. Or maybe they just finally started to truly listen to each other. Ezra was forced to open up more about his past, his health, and was taken completely off guard by the depth of the former slave's care for him, his compassion for what Ezra had suffered. He would never forget the feeling of warmth and relief in the healer's embrace when the doctors informed them that Ezra's condition would not kill him. Those strong arms felt a balm that the Southerner would carry with him, possibly for the rest of his days.

As wonderful as that feeling was, at the moment, it was taking all of Ezra's limited strength to keep from projecting to the worried child just how unwell he felt. But Billy, despite reassurances that Ezra held no ill will for how the boy treated him, how he attacked him, before the card sharp departed for Denver, felt continued distress over the incident. He seemed to exhaust every other topic but that one on their lengthy stroll here.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong, son?" Ezra asked, breaking down and finally asking the question.

Billy closed his eyes. He sighed, his lip quivering as he seemed ready for tears.

"Billy, there is no need for that." Ezra reached out and pulled the boy into an embrace. Billy resisted, but despite not feeling his best, Ezra's strength still bested that of the small blond child. "Ah thought we understood one another. Ah thought mah words conveyed that Ah held no ill will, that Ah accepted your apology."

Billy sniffed. "Yeah."

"So, what is this all about?"

"You've been sick since you got home."

Ezra frowned, wondering what that had to do with the child's behavior. He corrected the statement, as he pondered Billy's words.

"The medicines that Mistah Jackson and Ah have been tryin' are makin' me feel unwell. Ah am not sick, per se."

"Per se?" Billy asked as he leaned further into the poker player as he sniffed again and wiped at his nose with his sleeve. Ezra rolled his eyes. Children really could be so vile.

"It means that were it not for the medicines, Ah would be just fine."

Billy shook his head, Ezra could see it as he looked down on the mussed blond hair, but he could feel it through his layers of clothes as Billy could not seem to get close enough.

"What is worryin' you so?" Ezra asked.

"I don't want you to leave. Ever." Billy looked up to Ezra, his big, round blue eyes pleading. "Promise me you won't leave." One fat tear fell from one eye, then one from the other.

The request confused the former con man. Why would Billy ask such a thing? Ezra told the child, when they had their talk about the boy's behavior the day Ezra, Nathan and Vin departed for Denver, that the doctors said he would not die from whatever ailed him. But Billy hadn't asked him not to die, he asked him, pleaded with him, not to _leave_.

"Where has this come from? Ah have no plans to leave our dusty town." Ezra pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from Billy's face, along with the dust that had accumulated there already this day.

Billy sniffed and somehow managed to avoid crying, full out. "I … um … I heard Mr. Conklin say that it was just a matter of time before your kind moved along."

Damn. Conklin had said the same thing about each of The Seven for years now. The man was not the sort to ever admit he was wrong. It was more than wrong, though, for him to speak out of turn and risk being overheard by impressionable ears, young children who could not be expected to understand such adult musings. Ezra would need to speak with Chris and Mary about Conklin and the few other townsfolk who still thought the same way.

"Look at me, Billy." The child did. "Ah have no plans to leave."

"But … "

"Mistah Conklin is wrong. You would do well not to believe him when he speaks of me or any of mah fellow lawmen." The sweet-faced and still very young-looking boy appeared hopeful. "Ah am not goin' anywhere," the card sharp promised.

"I'm glad. I got a lot of amends to make," Billy said, careful with the use of the word that he seemed less than sure of. The phrasing may have lacked finesse, but the feelings in the utterance rang out loud and clear.

"Son," Ezra said as he pulled Billy closer, "you have no need to make amends. Your apology was all Ah needed." Ezra sighed. This conversation had sapped him of his strength.

"You're sure?" the boy asked, hugging Ezra tighter.

"Ah am." Ezra was beginning to panic. He knew Billy would want to head back to town soon. He also knew that his body would not provide him that kind of energy. As he tried and failed to think up a solution, the solution was made clear as they heard horses up at the road.

"Chris!" the little blond boy said as he jumped from the large boulder they sat upon and ran up the hill to the tall blond in the saddle.

"Billy, how're you doin'?" he asked as he watched Buck approach Ezra. Chris got down from his saddle and put his arm around the shoulder of the boy now attached to his leg like a limpet.

"Mr. Ezra said I don't have to worry about the amends," Billy told his surrogate father.

"That sounds like Ezra," Chris said as he smiled at the child. He frowned in concern as Buck made his way up the grassy knoll, alone.

"Ez wants to run a couple of ideas past me," the handsome ladies' man said, the lie flying well over little Billy Travis' head.

"All right. You think you can squeeze in goin' around to Nettie's?" Chris wanted to avoid forcing Ezra back in town. He could just as easily rest up somewhere other than the busy town, where someone always seemed to seek out Ezra for something or other.

Buck didn't think the extra distance to Nettie Wells' place was wise or necessary. It was definitely farther than going straight back to town. Buck agreed, though, that Ezra could use some peace and quiet. It was a shame Nettie's place was so far as she would be the first in line to make certain that the ornery professional poker player rested.

"Might. We can go to your place while we're out, check on your horses."

Chris deciphered that comment as Buck nixing the trip out to the Wells homestead and rather, taking Ezra to Chris' cabin, which wasn't too much farther down the road and then through a pass.

"That sounds good. Thanks." Chris looked down to the card sharp.

"Take it easy, Ezra."

"Ah will endeavor to do just that," Ezra called back.

"Bye, Mr. Ezra!"

"Good day to you, Master Travis."

Chris and Billy rode off as Buck moved Clyde and Chaucer closer to his friend. He took a seat beside the former con man, stretching his long legs to the green grass below.

"Y'all right?" he asked.

Ezra wiped the sweat from his brow. "Would you be kind enough to help me off of this rock? Ah am feeling decidedly woozy."

"Don't wanna fall and split your head open, huh?"

"It seems that might just ruin what otherwise promised to be a lovely day."

Buck helped Ezra down and leaned him up against an adjoining boulder. He fussed over his unwell friend, sat beside him and said, "Yeah, and except for me forcin' Billy on you when you'd just got one of your treatments … I'm sorry about that, Ez." Buck handed the pale man a canteen. "Take a drink." Ezra did, gratefully.

"It is quite all right … "

"It ain't all right. Damn it, Ezra, we all know what's goin' on. I should o' known better than to put you in that position."

"And perhaps Ah need to stop acting the sickly waif?"

Buck jumped from his seated position to his knees and put his face right in front of Ezra, an invasion of the highest order.

"Mistah Wilmington, if you do not mind." Ezra leaned back into the rock and closed his eyes.

"Right now? Oh, I mind. You're my friend and I done wrong by you." Ezra opened his eyes at that, ready to forgive what need not be forgiven. He would have gone to Billy no matter how poorly he felt. "Don't," Buck said as he saw Ezra open his mouth. Buck sat back and shook his head. "It's not like I even needed any reminder. I look at you every day. I can see that you don't feel right."

"Buck, I truly hope that you are exaggerating," Ezra said as he blinked his eyes tiredly.

"Oh, you hide it good, but your friends can tell that you're not a hundred percent."

Ezra sighed. "Ah cannot at the moment imagine mounting Chaucer, let alone riding to Chris' place," the gambler admitted.

"Then don't. It's a nice day, and I'll keep an eye out. Go ahead and sleep. You're supposed to be sleeping now, anyway, to let that stuff do its job, right?" the territorially infamous Lothario asked.

Ezra sighed once more and rubbed his incredibly heavy eyes. "Nathan says that Ah might exhibit fewer side effects if Ah allow mah body to rest for the initial hours after receiving the treatment."

"All right. Let me fetch your bedroll so you can get comfortable."

"That is not necessary."

"It is," Buck insisted. He patted the Southerner's leg and said, "Be right back."

When he returned, Buck frowned at the uncomfortable-looking position of Ezra's head and neck as he dozed up against the boulder. The mustachioed man had both his and Ezra's bedrolls and his own saddlebags. He'd spent some time with the horses, loosening their cinch's and making sure they got a drink and settled near some good grazing. Nathan had given him holy hell about Ezra, and handed him a sack of Gloria Potter's scones and some of Ezra's favorite coffee. The healer said that the gambler needed a little something to eat in order to tolerate the quinine. Nathan had only been gone long enough from Ezra's room to pick up the pre-arranged order from the widow, but somehow Buck slipped in and got Ezra all riled up about Billy.

Buck started on the fire for coffee and then the makeshift bed. Ezra could use Buck's blanket as a pillow rather than the hard rock his head rested on presently. Once he had the coffee on, Buck took a seat next to his friend. The man was made of pretty stern stuff to have made it out here the way he must have been feeling.

It was a beautiful late September day. The ladies' man looked around the spot where Ezra and Billy ended up. For a little boy and a sick man, the distance was impressive. The location was on the downside of a slope that turned dramatically to a rocky mount at its highest point. At the top of the natural structure it looked like Mother Earth had placed a lizard, positioned sunning himself in perpetuity. A cool breeze kicked up as Buck looked at Lizard Rock and the clear blue sky framing it. He removed his hat and felt the cool wind through his wavy locks. He smiled as he thought of this oasis not far from the dry, unforgiving part of the high desert not many miles still farther from town. The cottonwoods and the steadily running creek kept this spot green and welcoming. Another breeze kicked up. Buck checked the fire, then turned to look at Ezra. He was on his side now, his arms folded across his chest, his head bent at an awful angle.

"Hell," Buck said. "Ezra," he added as he shook the card sharp's shoulder.

"Tired," Ezra replied, followed by, "'s cold."

"Shit." Buck felt his friend's forehead. "Feels all right. Ezra," he called, more insistently.

Ezra blinked his eyes. His neck cracked, and then he groaned.

"Yeah, that's just great. Come and lay down over here," Buck suggested.

"How long?" Ezra asked as he sat up. He swiped a hand over his face and then rubbed at the crick in his neck.

"You've only been sleeping a few minutes."

"Ah do not know if Ah can endure this malaria treatment," the Southerner blurted out. Buck startled at the unexpected admission. "Ah hardly have time to recuperate before Ah feel …. " Ezra did not finish, but Buck had something to say.

"You walked near a mile to get here. That's got to have tuckered you out."

"It is precisely one and one half of a mile to Lizard Rock, Buck," the professional poker player said, correcting his friend, a crooked smile on his face.

"Well, I was close." Buck gave Ezra a hand up and watched as he settled himself onto the bedroll.

Ezra smiled. "Indeed." Buck knew the distance. It was an ongoing joke between the two of them due to the poor directional skills of one J.D. Dunne. Buck was a reliable shot at a good distance. Buck knew distance and, to be fair to J.D., he'd learned well from his 'big brother'. Ezra sniffed and then said approvingly, "You have some of mah favorite roast. It smells divine."

Buck stepped to the fire and poured each of them a cup. "Nate gave it to me with some of Gloria's scones. He's mad as hell at me."

Ezra yawned. "He will get over it." Buck handed him the coffee and then opened the sack from the proprietor of Potter's Mercantile.

"That Gloria knows her way around a kitchen", the lanky gunman said as he handed Ezra the first of what Buck hoped would be two of Gloria's famous concoctions.

The Southerner accepted the baked goodie and said, "Ah have said it before and Ah will say it again … "

"I know, Ez. If you was ten years older, or she was ten years younger, you'd marry her," Buck smiled as he took a huge bite of the perfectly baked scone: peaks and edges golden and crunchy on the outside, light and pockets on the inside that held raisins and cinnamon, the bite so satisfying Buck could not hold back the moan of appreciation.

"That is not a sound one might normally hear from Buck Wilmington, at least not outside of a boudoir."

"Gloria's baking is second only to sex in my book," Buck said as he finished his first scone.

Ezra grinned as he watched his friend devour the baked treat. "What about Missus Wells and her pies?"

"Th'rd," the ladies' man said after the first bite of his second scone. Well, not exactly _after_ …

Ezra shook his head, and then rested it back on the pillow made from Buck's bedroll. His head rested up, his shoulders well-supported by the folded blanket. It warmed his heart that Buck remembered that he felt ill lying flat during his times of sick headaches and nosebleeds. The scone rested half-eaten in his hand as it lay beside him.

"Ah fear Ah have waited too long to get something to mah stomach. Ah can eat no more."

"Come on, you only got half a scone left," Buck encouraged.

"Ah know, but Ah worry that attemptin' to consume more will result in an unpleasant reappearance."

"Damn," Buck said as he took the other half of the biscuit from his friend. "I'm sorry. You'd've eaten by now if I hadn't told ya about Billy."

Ezra waved his hand and said, "Please do not dwell on it. Ah have been feelin' poorly enough that any of a dozen things could be to blame."

"Yeah, but it wasn't one of them things this time."

Ezra ignored the response from his fellow lawman and asked, rather, "When does Chris expect us to return?"

"He doesn't. Said he'd meet us at his place."

"Really?" A yawn followed.

"Yeah. And don't apologize for bein' tired. Take as much time as it takes to feel better now, then we'll head over. He thinks you'll get better rest without the distractions of the town."

"Sans doute," Ezra said. He looked around. "Could Ah get some water?"

Buck looked at the nearly full mug of coffee resting beside the professional poker player.

"Sure." He handed Ezra the canteen. The scone was an indicator that Ezra wasn't feeling so good, but not finishing a cup of his favorite brew? That was the ultimate proof that the unpleasant side effects of his treatment that morning had taken hold. Ezra took one good-sized drink of water, waited a moment for it to settle in his stomach, and then drank some more. He handed the canteen back to his friend.

"Ah will rest for just a half an hour. We can then head to the Larabee ranch." To Buck, Ezra's complexion seemed to pale before his eyes. The gambler wiped the sweat from his brow on this beautiful, cool fall morning-nearing-noon. He lay down, but his breathing became a bit erratic.

"Ya'll right there, Ez?"

Ezra took a shuddering breath, rolled to his side and then crawled from his bed toward some brightly-yellowing chamisa.

"Ezra, let me help," Buck said as he followed alongside the crawling man. Ezra tried to stand, but it seemed dizziness had consumed him and he flopped back to the ground, crawling as fast as he could to put the next part of this unpleasant experience as far away from where they were camped as he could. Buck kept close, watching for snakes or other dangers.

Ezra panted, stopped now on his hands and knees, his arms trembling as he held himself up, readying to expunge the little amount of scone, coffee and water from earlier, possibly other vile regurgitation from last night's meal. Sweat trickled from his forehead to his nose and hung there, a taunting drip, warning him to prepare for the inevitable.

But the inevitable never came. As nauseous as he felt, Ezra did not vomit. He was overcome with a heavy lethargy; he finally gave in and allowed himself to fall to the ground. Buck, who had never left the sick man's side, stepped up and gently pulled his friend to a standing position and practically carried him back to the bed.

"You're a heavy son-of-a-bitch," Buck commented as he eased Ezra back down to the blanket.

"Truer words … " Ezra said softly, more likely in reference to the card sharp's mother than to his weight. Ezra Standish was fit beyond all evidence of any effort on his part to maintain that impressive physique.

He fell asleep quickly, but not so soundly. His discomfort was obvious from the persistent perspiration, the tossing and turning … and the moaning.

' _Damn it_ ,' Buck thought as he watched his fellow lawman and friend suffer. They should have got whatever blend of herbs for tea Nathan was using to help Ezra through these side effect. Buck hoped there _was_ something and that Chris would be bringing some with him back from town. But what if there wasn't something to ease these symptoms? What if Nathan and Ezra had been extra careful after each treatment because there was no treatment when things went wrong? Buck would play hell forgiving himself if the _only_ way to the other side of these ill effects was solid rest.

Damn it all to hell.

As Buck kept watch while Ezra slept, he noticed the day warming quickly. He removed his jacket and wondered if he should do the same for Ezra.

"You hot because it's hot out, Ez, or do you have yourself a fever?" the compassionate ladies' man asked as he took his kerchief, poured water on it to wipe the sweat from Ezra's face, neck and what he could reach of his chest. After doing his duty, he sat next to the sick man. He would give Ezra a good amount of time to rest, knowing that they should head to Chris' place to be there by one o'clock or so in order to beat the sun as it worked to heat up the day.

Just short of ten minutes before he planned to wake his Southern companion, Buck heard Pony through the trees, up on the road. Some rustling of branches followed and Chris rode up to them.

"Thought we were meeting you at the cabin," Buck said as he stood, stretched and walked over to the former gunslinger as he dismounted his horse.

"I've got some stuff from Nathan for Ezra," Chris replied as he looked toward the sleeping gambler. "How's he doing?"

"Hell. Sick. I am such an ass," Buck admitted.

"For wakin' me from a restful slumber? You are definitely an ass, Buck. As for the other, it would be inappropriate to assume that everyone in our fair municipality would or should be expected to remembah the schedule of these dreaded treatments," Ezra said, now turned to face his fellow lawmen but making no attempt to rise from his comfortable spot.

Chris and Buck walked over to him. "Glad to see you awake and talkin' all that talk. You must be feelin' better," Buck said as he knelt beside Ezra.

"All that talk? Did you have difficulty understandin' mah meanin', Buck?"

Buck stood and said angrily, "Don't seem like that rest did much for your personality, Ez." He headed determinedly to the horses.

"Buck," Ezra called apologetically, but the mustachioed man did not stop or turn to answer the former con man.

"Let 'im go," Chris said as he sat beside Ezra, a small cloth sack in his hands.

Ezra rubbed his forehead then asked, "Was Ah especially rude to him? Ah admit that Ah can wield a most acerbic tongue when Ah am off mah feed."

"No. Figure guilt's eatin' at 'im." Chris gave Ezra a good looking-over. "'Dreaded treatment'? Do you want to stop them?" the leader of the The Seven asked.

Ezra forced himself into a sitting position, swiped his hand down his face and answered, "Immediately." Chris looked shocked, and ready to argue with the gambler, but the former con man, who found himself both unwilling, most days, but more distressingly, unable far more frequently than he liked, to con these men, added, "As Ah have said, Ah realize that often the cure can be more unpleasant than the malady. No, Ah shall stay the course."

"Good," Chris said emphatically. "From now on, we'll make sure you go straight to bed after."

Ezra snorted a laugh. "Will you be tucking me in?"

"Maybe. I'll tie ya to the bed if I have to," Chris joked as he gave Ezra a hand up, holding on to him as the dizziness passed.

"Kinky. It's not mah thing, but Ah have always thought of mahself as an adventurous sort … "

"Shut up, Ezra," Chris said, still smiling and, more importantly, not pulling his gun.

"Yes, suh," the Southerner said with a snappy salute.

"Nathan sent along a tea, thought it would help. Do me a favor and just drink it?"

"Did Ah say Ah would not drink it?"

The two men stared at each other, Chris' smile still visible. "Do you want it now or when we get to the cabin?"

"We are only thirty minutes from your rustic domicile?" Ezra asked.

"More like twenty."

"Then let us prepare the vile concoction when we arrive at your quaint pied-a-terre."

"Pied-a-terre?" Chris asked.

"You know what it is."

Chris nodded slightly. "How do you know for sure that it's vile?" Chris asked as he arranged the bedrolls in their proper order for stowing behind the saddles.

Ezra looked at the serious visage of his friend. "With that straight man act, Chris, you should consider employment with a touring comedy show.

"I ain't here to entertain you, Ezra."

"You could have fooled me."

* * *

Buck entered the cabin, gently dropped the bedrolls and saddlebags on the floor, and took a seat at Chris' table.

"How's he doin'?" he asked.

"All right. Took that nasty stuff Nate sent along. Fell asleep before it even took effect. Grumbled about the 'lumpy mattress' but was out before his head settled into the 'lumpy pillow'." Chris eyed his old friend carefully, then asked, "How are you?"

Buck looked over at Ezra's sleeping form, shook his head, then admitted, "I fucked up and he paid the price," the caring lawman said.

"He'll be fine," the tall blond said as he went to check on the coffee. He poured two cups, reached for the flask in Ezra's jacket that lay folded on the back of the chair opposite Buck, and topped each of their mugs off with the fine Kentucky bourbon that the Southerner favored. He handed a mug to the upset man.

"No thanks to me."

"He doesn't expect to be treated special. He doesn't want it."

"He's my friend, Chris," Buck said, his voice raised. Both men looked toward the bed. Ezra slept, oblivious to the angry voice in the room. Buck spoke more softly when he added, "It's not like I didn't know, I just forgot. And I damned well knew he'd run after Billy."

"So?" Chris countered. "You knew something everyone else in town knew."

"Chris, it's like you're being annoying on purpose," Buck said accusingly, raising his voice once more. "I hate that."

"Is that not apropos? It is Chris we are speaking of," Ezra said softly from the bed.

"And now I woke 'im up. Are you happy?"

"Buck, Chris was not bein' diff'cult on purpose … " Ezra yawned, then continued, "Apologies. Despite how much he seems to enjoy such interactions with yours truly."

Chris smiled. "Moi?" he asked, mimicking an astonished look that the former gunslinger had seen any number of times when Ezra had asked the same question.

"You see, Buck? Inscrutable, purposefully so, a Chris Larabee specialty."

Buck rolled his eyes. "Inscrutable?"

"He is playin' devil's advocate with you," Ezra said as he sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed.

"You're not getting up," Chris warned.

"Ah am awake. Ah will fall back to sleep soon enough, Chris." Ezra looked to Buck. "Devil's advocate. He is provoking you to see the light, so to speak. Our friend is tryin' to get you to see that what happened was as much mah own fault as it was yours."

"That's not what I was sayin', Ez," Chris objected.

Ezra yawned. "Very nearly. In any event, Ah absolve you of any need to feel guilty. Ah must insist that before Ah head back into the arms of Morpheus that you accept mah pardon of you regarding today's unfortunate events."

Buck looked from Ezra to Chris and back to Ezra. "Listening to you twist your way through a conversation can give a man a headache, Ezra. You know that, right?"

Ezra lifted his legs back onto the bed and lay on his side, facing his two friends. "Ah know nothing of the sort." The card sharp yawned again. "Good Lord, apologies again, gentlemen. Ah am ready to take mah rest. Buck?" he asked, his eyelids barely able to remain open. In spite of that fact, Ezra seemed to dig deep for what little oomph he had left at the moment to remain frustratingly awake.

Buck remained quiet, hoping his friend would fall asleep before hearing anything more from the ladies' man. Ezra was having none of that.

"You cannot win," he told the former Texas Ranger.

Buck shook his head and looked to Chris for help.

"You can't," he said, definitely not helpful.

"Fine. I accept that I can't win this one." Ezra stared at Buck and said with his eyes, without speaking, 'And?' Buck added, "I'll try not to feel guilty about being stupid." He watched as Ezra blinked tiredly and Buck finished, "That's the best you're gonna get."

Ezra smiled and said, "Good enough."

"Damned straight," Buck said irritably. "Now go to sleep."

"Yes, suh."

Chris and Buck remained quiet and still until they heard the poker player's light snore which indicated he was well asleep. Chris nodded toward the door and the two went to the porch, coffee cups in hand.

The leader of the band of lawmen looked to Buck. He downed the last of his coffee and lit his cheroot.

"It's tempting to take an extra pillow and smother 'im with it, ain't it?"

Buck laughed as he enjoyed the cooling afternoon breeze, a surprise from the earlier warmth. Rain was coming, always welcome.

"He's a pain in the ass," Buck answered as he drank his coffee.

"That ain't gonna change, Buck," Chris said, followed by a long draw on his smoke. "I appreciate that someone else is his target for a change."

Buck laughed again. "Well, at least with me 'n' Ez, we had a legitimate dispute. He irks you like it's a serious poker game with his money on the line."

"I know."

"You know? And you haven't kicked his ass?"

"Figure I did a fair amount of that the first year I knew him," Chris admitted.

"Reckon that's true," Buck agreed. He took one of the two seats on the porch as he watched the breeze catch the tall, golden grass and heard the rustle of leaves in the trees. A hawk screeched, no doubt going in for the kill in a field in Chris' small valley. "He's a good man."

Chris squinted as he stepped from the porch and the protection from the overhang. "Don't know if he would agree. I do."

"He's goin' through a lot, with Nate. God, Chris, I hope he gets what he wants out of all this."

"We'll deal with whatever comes."

"What if it don't work?"

"Then nothing changes. We all go about our lives, but now we know that what he's got ain't what'll kill 'im."

"Well that's comforting," Buck said, not sounding the least comforted.

"It is to me."

"Yeah." Buck drained his mug of the bourbon-enhanced coffee and asked, "Billy seemed all right?"

Chris looked to the door behind which Ezra slept. He smirked, shook his head and said, "As Ezra would say, 'right as rain.' Where do you think he learned to be so good with kids?"

Buck looked to his friend and said, "I don't think anything about how he is with kids is learned. I think he just came that way."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Or maybe he's so good with 'em because he treats them how he wishes he was treated as a kid." Chris nodded. Buck was likely right. Damn Maude Standish. Maybe if she'd paid more attention to her son when he was younger he might not be going through all that he was now.

"We need to remember what Nathan told us," Chris said, the accusation clear.

"I know."

"You need to know. We can't have this happen anymore. You know how he is, not liking to show he's sick or hurting. We're lucky he's as stubborn as he is or we'd've never got him here."

"I know."

"All right. He needs gentle handling, for a while."

"Like a skittish colt."

"Yeah." They'd been there before with the Southerner.

"We'll take care of him."

Chris nodded his head, tossed his cheroot to the ground and stepped on it to make certain it was smothered. He picked it up and tossed it in a metal bin just off the boardwalk. "Come on inside. I brought the fixins for chicken and dumplins."

Buck smiled, stood up and followed his oldest friend back into the cabin. The delights that awaited him back in town were easily postponed for the delight of enjoying a dish that brought back good memories for both men. Buck watched Chris enter his cabin. He walked up to the bed, checked Ezra for fever and moved to the stove to start an early supper for all three of them. The ladies' man could barely contain his feelings, seeing Chris like this. He had been sure that he lost the old Chris Larabee when Chris lost Sarah and Adam. None of them discussed it, they were men, after all, hardened by life, though Buck knew the extra time he spent in the company of the fairer sex made him more open to show his feelings. Chris had found love again, and even if something were to happen that made he and Mary not last as a couple, Buck knew that the bonds Chris and Buck and the rest of the seven lawmen shared went well beyond some platonic brotherhood. It was love, love like true brothers. Blood brothers. Buck knew it, but he knew better than to say it out loud to Chris. But he felt that Chris knew it the best, felt it the deepest.

Buck looked over to Ezra. His eyes were open and he looked to Buck as though he knew exactly what the mustachioed man was thinking. The handsome gunman smiled, and Ezra closed his eyes, a smile on his face as he fell back asleep. Buck grabbed a chair, set it near Chris' bed, placed his ankles up on the mattress, crossed them, and dozed as he waited for his supper.

The End.


End file.
